Page 121 of Cooking Up My Comeback
Because whatever comes next, we built something beautiful together. And that’s worth fighting for.
Even if I have to be grumpy about it.
TWENTY-SEVEN
AMBER
The aqua dress hangs on my bedroom door. Tonight is our soft opening—friends and family only—and in ninety-three minutes, I’m supposed to smile and celebrate while my stomach churns over Chad’s ultimatum.
Give him my answer tonight. As if our dream coming true should be the backdrop for potentially signing it away.
Brett sent the sweetest good morning text—something about being proud of what we’ve built together. Normal humans would text back immediately. Maybe add a heart emoji.
Instead, I’m sitting in my bathrobe having what my therapist would probably call “an episode.” My brain’s conducting a parade of disasters. What if Chad shows up tonight to demand his answer? What if I have tochoose between my family’s future and watching Brett walk away? What if signing over twenty-five percent is the only way to protect what matters most?
My phone buzzes.
Hazel: Please tell me you’re getting ready and not having a breakdown.
How does she do this?
Me: I’m completely fine and definitely not overthinking anything.
Hazel: The most overthinking response you could have given.
Hazel: I’m coming over.
Before I can type a protest, the front door bangs open downstairs, followed by the unmistakable sound of mayhem approaching.
“Emergency best friend intervention!” Hazel’s voice carries up the stairs. “Nobody panic!”
“Why is Miss Hazel yelling about emergencies?” Mason appears in my doorway wearing his button-down shirt. His collar is wrinkled, and there’s a stain on his khakis I’m choosing not to investigate.
Four-year-old boys and nice clothes. What was I considering?
“Because she considers everything an emergency,” I say, pulling him onto the bed for a snuggle. He smells of toothpaste and sunshine.
“You appear very handsome, sweetheart.”
“Crew helped me with my buttons, but they’re reallyhard.” He touches his shirt with pride. “He said I appeared ‘presentable.’”
Crew and his vocabulary. This kid swallowed a dictionary.
“Very presentable,” I agree.
Hazel appears in the doorway carrying what resembles a tackle box, except it contains enough makeup to supply a theater production.
“Oh, sweetie. You’ve got the deer-in-headlights expression.”
“I do not have an expression.”
She plops down beside me, unpacking cosmetics. “Amber, you’re sitting in your underwear thirty-seven minutes before your restaurant’s soft opening. Definitely an expression.”
Mason pats my arm with the kind of sympathy usually reserved for wounded animals. “It’s okay, Mama. Sometimes I don’t want to wear fancy clothes either.”
This kid gets it.
“See?” Hazel waves a mascara wand. “Even Mason recognizes you’re spiraling.”
